Carolyn June's eyes glowed. Her heart felt as if a weight had been lifted from it So, the Ramblin' Kid had kept the odd souvenir, and he cared—he cared!
"Go ahead," she whispered to Skinny; "what then?"
"I reckon that's about all," Skinny answered. "Th' Ramblin' Kid smashed Sabota and as he staggered back, picked up the ribbon—then he didn't quit till he thought the Greek was dead. Tom Poole arrested him, but th' Ramblin' Kid got the drop on him and got away. He was justified in beating Sabota up anyhow," he added, "on account of the dirty cuss hiring a feller to 'dope' him so he couldn't ride the maverick the day of the big race—"
"'Dope' him?" Old Heck interrupted, puzzled.
"Yes," Skinny explained, "the Greek had a feller named Gyp Streetor put some stuff in th' Ramblin? Kid's coffee. He wasn't drunk at all—he was just poisoned with 'knock-out!'"
"Good lord!" Old Heck exclaimed. "And he rode that race when he was drugged! While we all thought he'd gone to pieces and was drunk!"
Carolyn June's cheeks suddenly turned pale. He cared, but he was gone! Perhaps never to come back! It seemed as if an iron hand was clutching at her throat!
She and Ophelia went into the hotel and Old Heck and Skinny drove the car over to the stock-yards where the cattle were being loaded.
After Parker and the cowboys were on their way east with the steers and before he returned to the ranch Old Heck went into the room in which Sabota lay. The Greek's head was a mass of white bandages. His eyes battered and swollen shut, he could not see the face of his visitor.
For a moment Old Heck looked at him, his lips parted in a smile of contempt lightened with satisfaction.